


Postcards to my stubborn self

by Pezzythecat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fic, flashfic challange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25588912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pezzythecat/pseuds/Pezzythecat
Summary: This is a flashfic written for the Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge prompt "Calling". Check it out at https://magnus-mailday.dreamwidth.org!Motels are scary places, even more so when you are alone, your only reference for them are late night seventies cop shows and cult Tv programs.Jon is having regrets about taking on intercontinental travel on his own, more so since his mind keeps wandering back to the one person in the archives that he wishes were there at his side.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67





	Postcards to my stubborn self

**Author's Note:**

> This is a flashfic written for the Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge prompt "Calling". Check it out at https://magnus-mailday.dreamwidth.org!
> 
> Im dyslexic and I do this to keep on top of that!  
> so all mistakes are my own.  
> let me know what you think!  
> thanks to the geriatric rq fans who helped with the food ref... that rabbit hole was a fun one.

Jonathan Sims was not posh.

Despite the impression he liked to give of himself, the uptight airs and graces and put upon attitude were just a mask. As a child he had learned that presenting himself in such a way had made the adults he encountered act differently towards him, rewarding him with books way beyond his reading age and the quiet to enjoy them till he grew bored and moved on to newer things. The other children in his class would avoid him, the spoiled little rich kid who lived in the enormous house and went on grand holidays with his wealthy grandmother to distant shores, while they all went to Bognor in their parents Ford Fiesta.

Reality was something rather different, his house was not a mansion, rather a small bungalow on the outskirts of Brighton, far enough out that it was on the end of the bus line and the others would never know. His family fortune was that of his Grans pension and the distant holidays were ones to caravan parks and retirement villas paid off weekly through his Grans social clubs and travelled on coach to the dizzy heights of Blackpool. He would spend his summers nose in a book or exploring the esplanade spending his money on Icecream and trinkets from antique stores, only to return to senior citizens playing bingo and complaining about it being too hot in bed and breakfasts that were last decorated in the late seventies.

He had travelled more at uni, the less said about the random weekend trip to Amsterdam on the ferry with Georgie the better, he could still feel the sea sickness that followed him from leaving Newcastle till they set foot on solid ground again at the other side. After that they flew, sea legs were apparently something that would never sit well on him, the trip to Venice had been more his style, the old building that they had rented spoke to him and the flight had been a blessing after the intrepid sea journey months before. There was something to be said for seeing the canals of Venice in person after only reading about them for so long. It felt like the knowledge of them became more real with the sight of sweeping brickwork and flowing waterways, even if the smell had led something to be desired. He had waxed lyrical to Georgie till she had told him to shut up, sharing himself and his interests with her until the surrounding culture became familiar rather than strange, comforting in its tradition and stories shared between two adventurers off to see the world.

Beijing seemed to fly past in fascinating images and blurred facts, and more than once he found himself missing Georgie on his adventures he couldn't process it all in any way without someone to share it with.

No not Georgie, he didn’t miss Georgie ,that was a lie. It wasn’t a person it was a feeling; he missed having someone to share new things with; it was the thing he had missed out on as a child and later enjoyed as a student, having someone to experience things with. Not for the first time his mind wandered to the archives.

Was he foolish to take on this errand alone? So far he had circumnavigated the globe on his own, worried that dragging anyone else in to this would only place them in even more danger, yet he couldn’t help feel that a companion would have at least given him some sort of relief from the paranoia that followed him constantly. Helped him take in his surroundings rather than it all pass in a blur of neon and halogen lights and take away containers. If he was honest with himself, and he had had plenty of time on more than one flight for self realisation, and that realisation was that he wanted Martin here. 

He hated that Georgie was right. She had always known him better than he knew himself and her perception when it came to his feelings for Martin had been no different.

Jonathan Sims would never admit that he had fallen so hard for his assistant. Jon Sims however wished with every passing moment that he had the foresight to bring the man along with him on this unthankful journey.

The thought that Martin was in the institute, somewhere Elias could get to him and in imminent danger was never far from his waking thoughts and his constant worry. He wished he could just bring himself to tell Martin how he felt. But that part of him that refused to drag him in to this further protested each time holding tight to Martin and not letting go wander across his mind.

He was so exhausted and his mind was full of piping hot cups of tea and bourbon biscuits, so much so he was unable to focus on his current task at hand. He put it down to travel fatigue to begin with, but it was drawing round him ever closer like a fog of confusion and loss as he signed for his room key and headed for the dull illuminated numbers of his motel room.

Jon was aware of Motels as a concept, he had watched enough bad American cop shows and sat through enough episode of Supernatural with Georgie to know what they entailed, yet there was something unnerving about the door opening to the elements and not on to a corridor with a neat line of identical doors on either side.

After throwing his bag on one of the queen-sized beds, he dragged the chair from the table setting and wedged it up under the door handle. Stepping back to look at his handy work he sighed, it would do little to block an entry if forced but at least it would slow an intruder down enough to buy him some time.

Time to do what he wasn’t sure, but time non the less.

He inspected the room; it looked like it had seen better days but it could have been worse; he had struggled to find a room anywhere as there was a convention in town and they booked the hotels and motels solidly. When he had given the Lyft driver the name of the place at least her face hadn’t dropped and Suzie on the reception reminded him so strongly of Rosie that it had almost made him feel like home.

His mind drifted in the shower, some of the aches from the flight easing as he washed away the jetlag and memories of a wasted journey.

‘ _ When did you last eat _ ?’ his mind piped up in a voice that sounded so much like Martin he may as well have been sitting on the toilet next to the shower talking to Jon as he washed his hair under the pathetic stream of tepid water. When was the last time he ate? On the flight? He had grabbed a cup of coffee in the airport before ordering the Lyft, had he eaten then? He was on auto at the moment, yet he could picture Martin’s face so clearly looking disappointed with him not looking after himself , that he felt a pang of guilt when his stomach rumbled.

Pulling on some boxers and a t-shirt he sank onto the bed, he should order food. Martin would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t eat, he would know, he always did.

Turning the room upside down he found the motel address on the back of a matchstick packet and pulled up Uber eats, at least he could prove to Martin he had eaten with his app receipt, he grinned as he typed in the company card details. Pete’s big boys would show up on the card receipt, what would accounting and Elias make of that. It was a petty victory but he would take them when he could.

He set about checking emails and text messages that had slowly filtered through as his phone settled on a network, company emails, a message from Basira regarding a case back home, Georgie checking he had made the flight (he hoped that his lack of reply to that one had at least reassured her that yes he had made the flight) a photo of the Admiral sprawled out across the mattress that Jon had been using as a bed followed quickly after, his squashed face and paws saluting the sun where it stretched out over tartan sheets.

He was about to pocket the phone again when one last message pinged the phone to life.

* **_Martin Blackwood (New) : Hope you landed safely, let me know x*_ **

Jon stared at the little x at the end of the message for far longer than he should have, even tapping the phone awake when the screen timed out. His hand hovered over the reply button, ‘I landed fine’ didn’t seem the right answer and ‘I wish you were here. I'm lonely and miss you’ seemed like the worst possible answer to a question that hadn’t yet been formulated or asked. He scolded himself for allowing a casual sign off to a text message set him off on a spiral, yet he still held the phone in his hand as he reached for the television remote and searched for something to distract him from the torture of answering.

The knock on the door made him jump, he had been sucked in to some strange game show about mini-golf that had the contestants dressed up as knights and set fire to as they played the hole; he prodded at the eye to investigate if it had anything to do with the distortion, but evidently, even it had no idea what its archivist was watching.

Unwarding the chair from below the handle Jon peaked out the spyhole, the delivery driver yawned on the other side of the door as he opened it, handing over his food without a second glance.

As soon as he was gone Jon barricaded the door and wandered back to his bed marvelling at the size of the ice tea that had come with his meal and questioning if he really had ordered the small.

He folded out the paper bag watching as a woman on the Tv launched the tiny neon ball around the planet Uranus, much to the amusement of the announcers, it wasn’t till the phone began ringing that Jon realised he had knocked it where it sat on the bed and was in the process of calling Martin. 

He hung up quickly.

But not quickly enough.

The phone vibrated in his hand; he kept it on silent even when he was on his own, nobody rang him normally, apart from Elias, so when Martins name flashed across the screen it seemed strange, stranger still when he swiped the phone to answer and Martin's face popped up in the tiny screen.

Martin looked worried, his face pale in the illumination of his own phone screen, his inky hair sticking up at odd angles and his glasses parched crookedly on his face.

“Jon? What’s happened? Are you ok?” his voice panicked but sleep worn, studying the phone closer he could see where the pillow had created lines on the other man's face, could work out the cluster of freckles that gathered on Martin's collarbone that would easily distract him if he was willing to let it. Jon had hoped that the distance would make the strange beating of his heart subside when he saw Martin, tame it with time and space, yet the smile that creeped slowly on to Jon’s face and the ache in his heart at seeing him so dishevelled was a testament to how much it had failed.

“I’m fine, don’t panic. I rang you by accident.” he blurted suddenly perturbed that he had caused Martin undue distress.

On his phone screen Martin reached out of frame, turning the bedside lamp on by the look of it, a warm glow filled the screen as his phone adjusted to the new light. Martin lent back into the screen, he had evidently propped his phone on the nightstand and adjusted his glasses running his fingers through his hair to tame some bed head.

Jon found himself wondering if it was as soft as it looked? He imagined it would be if he were given a chance to touch it. Would the curls card through his fingers like waves? Would it transition smoothly to the shaved sides, the texture moving under his own nimble fingers as he traced patterns committing it to memory.

On the tiny screen Martin yawned, sleep worn and adorable.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

Martin glanced at this watch and then back at the camera “It’s 3am Jon, yes you woke me.” he was trying to sound angry but Jon could tell it was hollow, his lips had twisted into a curve at the edges.

“I'm so sorry, I knocked my phone when the delivery man came to the door.” He lifted the brown bag to indicate food. “I should let you go, you were sleeping.”

“No, it’s fine,... I’ve mi... I won’t get back to sleep anyway, might as well talk now I have you,”

“Are you sure?”

On the tiny screen Martin raised a warning eyebrow. It had been subtle the change in him but the more forceful Martin made an appearance now and again and Jon was happy to see this side of him even when it was directed at him. Resolute in the fact that he had Martin’s attention he propped his phone up against his travel case so he could keep his hands free to tackle the issue of the food he had ordered, pulling the brown bag towards him and taking out the tightly wrapped sandwich.

Martin was staring at him now, legs crossed but comfy, his room looked cosy, lots of blankets and pillows scattered about on the surrounding bed, Jon tried to concentrate on that and not the fact that Martin was sitting in just his boxers and a t-shirt. He wasn’t mapping the curve of his calves or the way that his shirt tucked nicely around his stomach cascading down to his hips. He really wasn’t, that wasn’t something he thought of, late at night remembering how Martin would treat the Archives like his home, it seemed so long ago now a different life. 

He had a feeling Martin was doing the same; it was strange to feel watched without it being malicious in any form, did Martin like what he saw? Compared to Martin's curves Jon offered little in the way of comforting edges, too sharp and boney to be good at much more than harsh words and scathing glances. Yet he felt wanted and seen as Martin beheld him through a tiny phone camera. 

That feeling of distance grew in him again, he wished Martin were here; he wished he was brave enough to say what he wanted to say.

It echoed, the flush that rose in him, across the ocean it appeared on Martin’s freckled skin, the colour seen so many times before popped in the other man's cheeks. A flash of longing coursed through him, he wanted to be the one that made Martin blush like that, to make him lose track of himself, would that hint of pink splay down his chest? Would it make the freckles on his collar stand out more proudly? Or would the flush drown them in its embrace? It was so far from his normal thought process that Jon looked away ashamed of his own brain for allowing him to think like that.

When he glanced back at his phone Martin seemed to shake himself free of a thought spiral of his own, biting at his bottom lip and looking away he blurted out what seemed to be the first thing that came to mind. “What did you order, anyway? What's the food like there? Have you been eating?”

“A Philly cheesesteak, I don’t know yet and yes I have, in that order.” he unwrapped the grease paper around the bun, it was thick with stains and a bright orange substance that he assumed to be cheese, if cheese had been designed by a four-year-old with limited access to the crayon box. 

He sniffed it before taking a bite; it wasn’t the worst thing he had tasted, but the choice had been limited on the app, so he had gone with whatever had the best review. He wouldn’t buy it again, but he had to eat, even if it was just to keep Martin happy.

Martin had a certain way of looking at him that Jon had grown fond of, he’d caught him doing it several times over their lunch breaks, it was plastered on his face now, that reassurance that his constant nagging was paying off, that Jon was looking after himself and not running himself on empty. It was becoming second nature now for Jon to want that image to greet him when he looked up; he wanted to see Martin happy with him for his progress; he wanted to see Martin happy.

“What’s in that anyway?” Martin asked as Jon dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and showed the camera the contents of the bun. Somewhere in his mind the Eye stirred, it begrudged giving him this information. Jon poked at it anyway, just for once it could do what he wanted it to.

“That is a good question, Im assured that it’s a delicacy in these parts, no more than three hundred places claim to be the home of the best version of this particular sandwich, though the two biggest rivals for the title sit at either side of a crossroad, I believe the main ingredient is a beef of some sort, sliced with peppers of varying origins and some sort of sauce. It would appear that the cheese comes from a spray can, squirt cheese is …”

“What? Like squirty cream? But for cheese?” Martin cut him off, and the eye complained. The sharp stab was smothered quickly by the entertained expression and the way Martin leaned towards the camera now, elbows on knees hands below his chin, beaming at the casual info dumb that had spewed from Jon’s mouth.

“I think I may go as far as describing it as cheese with imposter syndrome.” he said before taking another bite. He was beginning to wish Martin had never asked about the mystery foodstuff, but if the flesh statements hadn’t put him off meat, he very much doubted that Gary the line chef hadn’t changed gloves between sandwiches would be the thing that pushed him over the edge.

“So, E numbers in a trench coat? ,”

“Something like that. Cheese has no right being that shade of yellow. I dread to think what emulsifiers and additives are in it to make it that liquified”

“And we all know you're the expert in emulsifiers,” Martin laughed, and the sound unwound the last of that tight pain that had slowly been smothering Jon’s heart “But does it taste alright?”

“As much as it pains me to admit it, it is quite palatable yes.” it shocked him to realise that the next bite was his last, he hadn’t realised how hungry he actually was. He polished off the sandwich, as Martin chatted aimlessly about American food he would love to try, Jon making a mental note of the chocolate bars and the candy he listed. He would keep his eyes peeled for them on his journey, an offering of apology for waking Martin at an ungodly time. Obviously. 

Not because he wanted to buy the man gifts, to make him happy, to apologise for leaving him behind when he could have been here now in person and not a pixelated image on an illuminated screen.

“Jon?”

“Sorry, what?”

“You zoned out are you ok?”

“Sorry, I just… it's been a long few days. That’s all.” he sipped at his ice tea shuddering at the taste. God, he wanted a proper cuppa.

“It can't be easy, it's a lot of travelling on your own.”

“It is ,I really wish you were here with me...” The words had escaped before he could think about it, the thought had been on the front of his mind for so long that the words tumbled off his tongue with no conscious action of his own. “I mean-” he stumbled trying to back up but Martin cut him off.

“-I know what you mean Jon,” and something in Martin's tone told Jon that yes, Martin knew exactly what he ment.

Jon forced his gaze to the phone where Martin's earnest face stared back at him.

“I wish I was there with you too, I miss you,” his words struck like a lightning bolt, every nerve in Jon's body suddenly attuned to the cadence in his tone, the silent understanding behind Martin’s eyes speaking to him loud and clear.

“I miss you too.” it was barely audible but Martin held his gaze as he spoke, and not for the first time Jon felt that Martin understood him in ways nobody else had before.

At a bone deep level Jon realised that the feeling following him constantly wasn't tied to some eldritch fear god, not that of a crush that couldn’t shake; it was something more powerful than that. 

It scared him it had taken him this long to rationalise the fractured thought and feelings into one neat and tidy label.

Love.

Shit. He loved Martin.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was sure the Eye was enjoying this sudden realisation, but right here and now Jon was at a loss what to do with this newfound tidbit.

Jon broke the eye contact first, using the oversized Ice tea as an excuse to look away. He couldn’t do this, not now, not over a video call from the other side of the world.

But would he be able to do it face to face? Would he be able to stand in front of Martin and ask him out on an actual date? 

They were facing the end of the world, crazed avatars of fear gods stalked there every move, yet asking Martin out for a tea and cake or maybe a pint scared him more than a thousand yellow doors and anthropomorphic mannequins.

Was it selfish to want someone this way when it would only drag the person deeper into this twisted mess he was entangled in?

The thoughts were as bitter as the tea on his tongue and it must have shown because when Martin spoke next it was as if the previous conversation had never happened.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, fussing with the yellow pillow that he had now dragged to his lap, he traced the tassels through his hands.

“An abomination to tea leaves.” he sighed “I’d murder someone for a decent cup of tea about now,”

“I’ll be there in about ten hours, put the kettle on, no need for murder just yet” Martin joked, but the words seemed strangled somehow. Like he wished he could offer him more.

“I wish.”

“Yeah, so do I.” Martin hugged the pillow closer to him resting his head on top, he was closer to the phone now, he must have changed position when Jon was avoiding the elephant in the room. He looked comfortable and sleepy and for the second time that night Jon wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through his hair, to push it back from his eyes and sink into the other man's embrace.

He should let Martin go, it was the middle of the night; he had no right to be demanding so much of the other man's attention, yet still he placed his drink on the nightstand and rearranging the pillows and phone so he could continue their conversation.

Maybe he was being selfish, but he didn’t want Martin to go, even just that little moving image of him was making him feel safer, making him feel like he was important to at least one person as him and not some conduit for a fear god.

Martin was talking but Jon wasn’t listening, too busy watching the way he twisted the tassels of his pillow around his fingers, wondering what it would feel like to have that attention paid to him under Martin’s confident hands, because now in the low light of bedside lamps and behind the safety of a distance and technology Martin seemed more sure than he ever did in person. He led the conversation while Jon happily listened, the subject matter lost on him now as Martin yawned and Jon mirrored it back.

He was being selfish, he should let Martin sleep…

“You’re right. Although, it's almost time to get up” Jon hadn’t even realised he had said it out loud until the other man answered. Martin yawned again and for the first time Jon noticed that the electric glow on the screen had been replaced with sunlight that now creeped across Martin's face.

“I am so sorry.”

“It’s all right, if anyone complains, I’ll just say you kept me up all night.” Martin realised the connotations of his words at the same time as Jon did, hiding his laugh and red face behind the pillow. “Oh god that sounds awful doesn’t it.”

“Taken out of context yes.”

“People would talk.”

“Hum.” Jon mused, they talked anyway, he was positive he and Martin had been the victim of many a gossip session within the institute before now. “When I get back… can… we... I think we need to talk?”

Martin nodded, a resolute look on his face “Yeah, I think we do. Jon I-” he was cut short by the alarm on his phone buzzing loudly over the call, he reached out and silenced it, his face flustered. “I have to go Jon, I can’t be late for work.”

“You never are.”

“Talk later ok, get some sleep,” the look of concern pulled at Jon’s heart, even though he had been the one to keep Martin awake, he was still concerned that Jon needed to rest. 

“I'll Try,” 

“Do it for me yeah?”

“Ok I'll do it for you.”  _ I’ll do whatever you ask me to, just say.  _

“I have to go, you, you sleep now!” Martin’s voice sounded so determined that Jon nodded without thinking and the smile that adorned Martin's face wrapped him like an embrace.

“Night Jon, get some rest,” Martin swiped the screen and the call dropped out, leaving Jon feeling suddenly very alone.

He stared at his screen saver until his phone blinked out, taking the image of the Admiral with it. The complicated feelings in his chest twisted and settled in a ball, like a purring cat offering comfort to its owner.

Was he piling his own feelings on top of small insignificant signs given to him by Martin? Did Martin feel the same way about him? He had heard the gossip; he had listened to the tapes, but still something was telling him he shouldn’t trust the hope that Martin felt the same way.

***Martin Blackwood (New): Stop over thinking and get some sleep x** *

This time he took the x as intended, the world may be out to get him but time and time again Martin had proven that he was the exception to that rule.

***Jon Sims: I will, Stay safe x***

***Martin Blackwood (New): You too, :) x***

Sometimes an X is just an X and sometimes it’s more, this time Jon hoped beyond hope it was more. Maybe the next trip he took he wouldn’t be alone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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